The Killing Moon

  About the author

  Michael Robinson had a difficult childhood and was diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder at the age of seventeen.

  At the age of twenty, Robinson joined the 4th Battalion Parachute Regiment, and later the 3rd Battalion Prince of Wales's Own Regiment. Upon passing out, he was awarded 'most improved recruit'.

  Later into his military career, Robinson volunteered for the arduous 'Cambrian Patrol', a type of special forces training, with a view towards joining the SAS. However, during deployment in the Brecon Beacons, Robinson succumbed to hypothermia, and was ultimately sacked from the army on Christmas Eve after they had looked into his medical records.

  From here, Robinson ended up in HM Prison Hull and later was locked up indefinitely under Section 37/41. He remained locked up for about three years and on release wrote about his experiences in his autobiography Sectioned: The Book the NHS Tried to Ban on Amazon Kindle.

  As well as a soldier, other jobs Robinson has done include drummer for two successful groups, carer at a special needs school, chef, bouncer, driver and minder for a Hull escort agency. Also, he has an NVQ in catering, a diploma in Uniform Public Services, and has read law with criminology at university.

  Robinson has been married to his long-term partner, Julie, for five years. He continues to support mental health campaigns with help from his local MP and other government agencies. This includes working with the Heads Together campaign, Mind, and other mental health charities.

  (YouTube: "heads together campaign michael 'robbo' robinson")

  He regularly helps out the homeless in Hull and other persons/groups in need where he can.

  The Killing Moon is Robinson's first novel.

  Michael Robinson

  The killing moon

  Vanguard Press

  VANGUARD E-BOOK

  © Copyright 2019

  Michael Robinson

  The right of Michael Robinson to be identified as author of

  this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the

  Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All Rights Reserved

  No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication

  may be made without written permission.

  No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced,

  copied or transmitted save with the written permission of the publisher, or in accordance with the provisions

  of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended).

  Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to

  this publication may be liable to criminal

  prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is

  available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978 1 784655 61 7 (paperback)

  All characters and events, whilst based upon real life experiences, are not indicative, nor do they represent, real life characters and events. All work included in this book is entirely fictional and any resemblance to real life events or persons is entirely coincidental.

  Vanguard Press is an imprint of

  Pegasus Elliot MacKenzie Publishers Ltd.

  www.pegasuspublishers.com

  First Published in 2019

  Vanguard Press

  Sheraton House Castle Park

  Cambridge England

  For Lucy - in causa excellentiam quaerere

  Acknowledgements

  There are several people I need to thank who without their input The Killing Moon would not be possible. First and foremost, my typists: Mitch, Laura, Chris and Michael. Had they not typed whilst I dictated, then I can safely say this work would never have been done. Also, I'd like to thank my medical team based at the Humber Centre past and present. In areas their expertise was invaluable, also their encouragement and support have been second to none, for me anyway.

  I would like to thank friends and colleagues from Her Majesty's Armed Services, past and present, who have supported me and advised me on certain areas. For obvious reasons, I will not name them, but you know who you are, I know are you are and what you've done to keep me and my family safe over the years. I am grateful for your input and as well, you all know I long for the day to wear the Queen's uniform again, however doubtful. Well done, lads.

  Also, I'd like to thank the SAS authors, Andy McNab and Chris Ryan, both of whom I have only met briefly, however, their work has been an inspiration and also made me realise there was a life after leaving the army.

  The Jackdaws deserve recognition too for understanding why I had to leave drumming for the group in order to focus on this project. I'm so pleased we're all still mates.

  I extend my thanks also to the whole team at the London School of Journalism for your encouragement, expertise and inspiration. The journey to London once a week was worth it.

  I am grateful also to one of my neighbours, Anthony, who found the time to read the first drafts of The Killing Moon, and advise me accordingly.

  I'd like to thank Stan and the team at KCFM, again for their advice and for making everything happen.

  Also, I'd like to thank my family, particularly my mother and my grandmother for their endless support since the day I was born.

  Anyone else who has not been mentioned, please forgive the omission, and my thoughts and prayers are with you. See you in Harry's. Mine's a Guinness.

  Most importantly of all though, I would like to thank my wife Julie. You taught me to take one day at a time, you let me off the leash when I need to run, you cook the best meals in the world and you take care of me better than I do myself. Forever indebted.

  Part One

  Hull

  Chapter One

  As the plane taxied toward the bright lights of Oxford where the 747 was approaching Brize Norton, Rob Foster's mind was elsewhere. Most of the regiment had flown home three days before but as always with the infantry, the lads that were effective on the ground were always tasked to stay a bit longer. Rob couldn't get the image out of his mind of the insurgent he had to kill at close range.

  He was just a boy, possibly fourteen but totally brainwashed by his manipulators who promised him he would sit at the right hand of Allah if he detonated a bomb near Rob's patrol in the southern Afghan town of Garmsir. Along with the ten other insurgents he killed, Rob had entered a world of pain but it was the fourteen-year-old that scarred his memory. Even though it was a legitimate kill, as with the rest of the kills, the rules of engagement were followed down to the letter, but there was something deeply sickening about killing children.

  At the end of the tour the troop returned to Camp Bastion for a ten day debrief, from there it was two weeks R&R in Cyprus. Some of the other lads in the troop were in the same position as Rob, the glazed look in their eyes told you all there was to know. Rob had not slept properly during the two-week R&R and talking to some of the younger lads, the medals that they were after at the beginning of the tour became pointless. They just wanted to get home.

  As the plane came in to land, a big cheer went up when the wheels touched the tarmac. Most of the families would be there to meet them; wives, parents, children all with tears in their eyes at seeing their loved ones return. Rob didn't know if that was the case for him because he had not spoken with Annie for the best part of three months. Things weren't right between them before he went away and the argument over the sat-phone told him that he knew their marriage was over, despite the fact that she was carrying his child.

  Just as he suspected, Annie wasn't at the terminal when he passed through customs and he felt a mixture of anger, remorse and jealousy as his mates got passionate kisses from their loved ones. Rob picked up his belongings and headed for the bus which would take them back to Catterick Garrison whe
re he would be staying for the night until the regiment would be dismissed at eight a.m.

  As he stepped onto the bus, CSM French collared Rob. "You gonna go for selection then, Rob? If you are, I'll put you forward. You did well out there, mate, eleven confirmed is no mean feat."

  Rob didn't feel like talking so just replied, "That's the plan, sir."

  Selection had been on Rob's mind since he joined the army five years ago. He was due to start phase one, two weeks before he was told the regiment was going to Afghanistan and as always, the regiment was short on numbers so the CO withdrew his place. He was scheduled to start it in two months where Rob hoped he would be in the SAS.

  As he sat in his seat and stared at the rain on the window as the coach weaved its way up the M1, Rob knew things weren't right. Normally he could talk after an operation but that was just a few bursts here and there in Northern Ireland. The can of Carling that the CSM had given him just made him feel sick, whilst at the same time, he had a dry taste in his mouth. He wanted to get off the bus. He wanted to be alone. He didn't want to hear anyone else's voice; but most of all he wanted the image of the fourteen-year-old insurgent out of his head.

  The bus arrived in the rain at Catterick at about two in the morning. The CSM was pissed at this point and just said to the remaining troop on the bus, "Square away to your billet, lads! Parade at eight in the morning and then you can all fuck off."

  Rob got to his room, dumped his gear and looked at his bed before he turned his eyes to the photograph of him and Annie in happier times on holiday in Wales. He was drained but at the same time wired, he put the photograph back onto his cabinet which had a thin layer of dust then, still in his uniform, he took off his boots, climbed into his bed and tried to sleep.

  Thoughts were racing around Rob's mind as he closed his eyes. Most significantly the fourteen-year-old insurgent he had to kill but also there were other issues. The fact he was soon to be a father to an estranged wife played on him dearly, also he knew he would have to start training for selection which would probably start in a couple of months. He questioned himself, whether he was ready for it even though it had been his lifelong ambition ever since he joined the army. He turned over and he tried to sleep.

  Chapter Two

  While Rob slept, images of his father shouting at him raged through his mind, that was, until he started to stir. Half asleep, half conscious, then all of a sudden, a single bang. It was the unmistakable sound of a discharge from an SA80 assault rifle but this wasn't a dream. As he startled out of bed, Rob looked around the room for the danger. Within a second, he looked for his own SA80 then heard raised voices. "Quick get the medic!" Then again, "Medic, Medic, Medic!"

  Rob's mouth was dry as he reached for the door handle to investigate what the commotion was and part of him said to himself, 'Let somebody else deal with it,' but the curiosity within him was too strong. He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Two doors down on the right, a bedroom door was open and there was Tony with tears in his eyes as he looked at Rob. Tony was standing outside of Andy's door and Rob quickly worked out what had happened.

  As he approached Andy's room, he saw Andy, still in uniform lying on the bed but with a mixture of blood and gore hanging off the walls. His SA80 assault rifle had fallen to the floor and it was a surreal moment seeing one of the regiment, albeit not a close friend, lying down with half the back of his head removed. Rob knew straight away there was nothing he could do for him, even if Andy was still alive, his brain was dead anyway and it wouldn't be long before his body succumbed. Tony turned to Rob and said,

  "Can't you do owt, mate?"

  At the same time, two medics from the guard house were rushing down the corridor. Rob took Tony by the arm to lead him out of the room as the medics came in. He turned to Tony and said, "Let 'em get on with it, mate."

  Tony was welled up and said that Andy had got a 'Dear John' letter when he got back to his room.

  "That slag, Ellen, from The Ship Inn, we all warned him about her, apparently she started fucking a sergeant from Signals while he was halfway through his tour!"

  Twenty minutes after the suicide, CSM French turned up still drunk from the night before but you could tell it was just as hard on him, losing one of his men. He went to see Andy's body and then placed a private on the door so no one could enter except for the Redcaps (Military Police) who would be on their way to investigate. The CSM turned to Rob and Tony and said, "Lads, get down to the cookhouse, I'll have a chat with you there. Just need to square things out with the OC."

  As Rob and Tony made their way across the parade ground, Tony was inconsolable whereas Rob was more numb, almost hardened to death.

  The next day, final parade was a sombre affair. Even by Rob's standards, he was completely and utterly shattered. The Redcaps came down to the cookhouse within an hour and proceeded to question him and Tony, as well as the others for the next three hours, as if it had been them who pulled the trigger. He didn't manage to see Tony after that but the way he was talking, it wouldn't be long before he left the army. Andy's family had turned up to meet him at the gate in the morning and were quickly ushered away to be given the news.

  At eight a.m., the parade took place with the CO offering a few words of comfort to Andy's mates, with the obligatory words of well done for the work in Afghanistan but even that seemed like a hundred years ago now.

  Just before the parade was dismissed, Rob was asked to see the CO immediately after the parade, he assumed it was something to do with Andy. He sat outside his office for five minutes before he was ushered in. The CO sat there and looked up at Rob, "I know you want to get off, Foster, so I'll keep this brief. Special Forces selection starts in three months. Do you still want to be on it?"

  Although Rob was surprised how soon this had come about, he knew better than to question. It wasn't the status quo.

  "Yes, sir, absolutely."

  "OK then," the CO replied. "You'll receive a letter in the post in the next couple of days. Make the most of your time off. Dismissed."

  Chapter Three

  Within an hour Rob was in a taxi in his civilian clothes and with some of his kit headed for the station at Richmond. Again, he avoided conversation with the taxi driver. Three hours later, having caught the train from Richmond to Hull, Rob stepped off the platform at the Hull Interchange and walked to the taxi rank. It was almost a surreal moment for him watching everyday people going about their everyday lives. All of them were oblivious to what had been going on in the world and what had been done, in their name, to protect their civil rights and civil liberties. Rob didn't know if this was a good or bad thing.

  He took a black cab to Hessle where he got out at Hessle Square and decided to walk the short distance to his house where the inevitable argument would happen between him and Annie. As he approached the house, he realised that he didn't have his key and noticed that the curtains were drawn. It was about one o'clock in the afternoon and so this meant Annie was out.

  As he approached the front lawn, he noticed the grass had not been cut for some time. He knocked a few times on the door with no answer so he made his way around the back. As he looked through the windows, he saw pots in the sink that looked like they had been left there for weeks. He took out his mobile phone and tried to call Annie but the line went dead.

  He was just about to smash the window to gain access round the back when Angie, the woman next door, called him. "Your grass really needs cutting, Rob, it's been like that for weeks."

  "Have you still got a key, Angie? I can't get hold of Annie."

  "I think she's gone to her mother's," she replied, almost prying for more information that could be used as good gossip later on.

  "I wouldn't know, I haven't heard owt from her," Rob replied, starting to get annoyed and added, "I've been away for the last six months fighting for democracy."

  Angie disappeared into her house and returned two minutes later with the key. "Well now you're back, you can cut the grass. Al
so, the windows look like they haven't been cleaned in months."

  Rob bit his lip. "I'll get on with it."

  The damp smell as he opened the door was an obvious sign that Annie had left him, also the piles of unopened post were the tell-tale signs. He looked to see if she had left him a note to let him know where she would be but there was nothing. As he opened the fridge door, the contents were bare except for an open tin of beans which had started to go rusty and a pint of milk which was three months out of date so she must have left him not long after the argument on the sat-phone when he was in Afghanistan.

  However, to Rob, it was good to be home in familiar surroundings. He had a month off now in which to do what he liked, although he had no doubt that Annie would have cleaned out his bank account. He made his way upstairs, turned on the heating and saw the empty open drawers where Annie had kept her belongings but he decided he would try and contact her later. He took his shoes off, climbed into the unmade bed and slept.

  Rob slept really well in his own bed and although he still had the nightmares, after six hours sleep, he felt recuperated but again the images in his mind woke him. It was still daylight outside and for the first time in about six months, Rob didn't know what to do with himself. He thought about going to Annie's mother's place but Annie's family had never approved of Rob anyway and the last thing he wanted was more confrontation.

  Rob took a cold shower. He found some clean underwear, put on his jeans and decided to go for a pint. It was just turning dusk on the spring evening as he locked the door behind him, he could hear the faint bird song. It felt very calming almost like a comfort blanket to hear the birds sing but he still had a lot of pent up aggression inside him of which he did not know the source.